The Botched Marriage Ch. 11

CHAPTER 11. AFTERMATH.

A SHOULDER TO CRY ON. (KATIE'S VOICE)

"You're not a psychologist. Don't try to do too much. Just be there for him, and don't fall apart."

I repeated it to myself over and over again during the drive. But when I got there, I fell apart before Mom even opened the door. She held me and let me cry. It's always been like that between us. Mom has always made time for our tears.

When I was done, she wiped my face with her thumbs. "Now go inside. We need you. Danny's reading to the kids, so there's peace there, at least for now. But can you talk to Marie first? She's right inside in the living room. She's losing it."

Marie was a mess. She wasn't a woman who cried. Not ever. And yet her tears hadn't dried in hours. I sat beside her, hugged her, and let her cry into me.

Danny is her youngest, and unabashedly her perfect, precious prince.

Like me, he was born late in his parents' marriage. He's ten and eight years younger than his brothers. I'm six years younger than Carrie.

Everything about him has always been about kindness, steadiness, sweetness. His dimples, his honest, expressive blue eyes, his insight. Always first in his class. The kid who broke up fights. All-state wrestler. Honor Society. First in his family to graduate college. Married Carrie before his older brothers even stopped being man-children.

"He's been through a lot, Katie," she said, her voice shaking. "But it'll be okay. I just can't stand to see him like this. I know he's torturing himself up there, and there's nothing I can do."

"We'll figure it out, Marie. He's strong. He and Carrie are strong."

I felt her body tense at Carrie's name. I hugged her tighter.

"Katie. You've always been the smart one in this family. Both our families. Donna says you've been doing research all day. Can you tell me what you found? I don't want to hate Carrie. I love her like my own. I really do. I just want to understand what happened. To get inside her head."

So, I told her, in as brief and gentle a version as I could. I left out the suicide fears. But she's smart. She understood.

"I'm just worried sick about Dan. He's not saying anything."

"I think that's just shame," I said. "Not a lack of processing. Knowing that we all know. That's its own trauma. But this is going to take help. I don't think they can do this alone."

"He shouldn't be ashamed," she said. "He's the one who was wronged."

"That's not how it works. Not in the locker room. Not in his own head. He feels inadequate--as a man, a lover, a husband."

She wept again, and so did I. And all I could think was: Can such wounds be repaired?

That's when Mr. Kyle pulled into the driveway. He dropped off pizza, snacks, drinks, and enough booze for Mom and I to throw a block party. That's the Old Neighborhood for you.

He walked Marie out like she was made of glass, and said to me on the porch, "We'll always be family. No matter what."

Inside, Mom told me we'd share the master bedroom while Danny took the guest room. She thought he might have fallen asleep upstairs with the kids, and honestly, clinical trials probably show that napping under a pile of your children is good for the soul.

After she sat down to rest her legs, I got to work.

I swept the house like a forensic team. Found all copies of the DVD, along with the desktop, his laptop, and the kids' tablets. Just in case. I prayed nothing had reached his phone. I scrubbed browser histories. I bagged up the clothes they might have worn that night. Even the bag he'd packed. In his car, I found the parking garage receipt and took that too.

I locked it all in my trunk.

When I came back, Mom was going room to room burning incense. Like an exorcism. I guess that's not wrong.

We agreed to take shifts. Suicide watch. She went to bed first. I stayed up in the living room, researching. Hoping he'd come down. Wanting him not to be alone if he woke up.

A bit after midnight, he did. He didn't seem surprised to see me. I quickly minimized the windows on my laptop. We stared at each other for a moment. I tried to show him sympathy without pity. Harder than it sounds.

"Are they all asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah. It took a while, but they're out. They're... rattled. They saw the arrest."

I nodded. There was nothing to say to that.

"Want a drink? Watch something dumb on TV?"

He didn't answer right away. A long pause.

"There's nothing anyone can do to help me be comfortable, Katie. I'm sorry. I appreciate you being here. But what I need to work on is learning how to live with this."

I'm not a therapist. I've said it a thousand times now. But I've read more today than most people do in a month. And something in my gut knew: he wasn't just grieving. He wasn't just in shock. He was gone. The Danny I knew--Carrie's Danny--was buried somewhere under the rubble of what he'd witnessed.

I said the one thing I'd been terrified to say all day. "Can you forgive her, Danny?"

Another pause. And when he spoke, it was like listening to a ghost of a man I used to know.

"Of course, Katie. It's the least of what I owe her."

My throat tightened. "Danny... no. She's not the one owed anything. You are. Forgive her if you can. But don't turn this into some twisted repayment plan. What could you possibly owe her?"

He didn't hesitate. "I failed her. I couldn't satisfy her. A whole life of frustration. And when she finally found a way to get what she needed... I made it about me. I told her the lifeline she found was incompatible with my existence."

I started shaking my head, but he kept going.

"Instead of being supportive, I was insecure. Instead of celebrating her climax--maybe her first real one--I was angry. I didn't drop to my knees and ask forgiveness for all my years of failing her. I didn't thank the man who gave her what I never could. I couldn't even look at him. I just wanted to go home. I left her alone, Katie. Afterward. For a week. That's why she lost her mind. That's why she got arrested. I did that."

Then he broke. Fully, completely. He collapsed to his knees and wept like a child. Like his whole life had been burned to ash.

And me--I approached him the way you approach a wild animal in pain. Slowly, carefully. Palms out. I knelt beside him and held him. And I cried too.

Carrie and I--God. We've always had our run-ins. She was my hero until I was twelve. And then... well. At some point I got old enough to fall in love with Danny.

They were both my heroes, really. My second home. My escape hatches. The kids were like medicine for everything wrong in my life.

And I know, deep down, I judged Carrie for every little way she failed to live up to the pedestal I'd put her on.

And now, as I held this broken man on the floor, I hated her. Viscerally. Violently. Hated her.

Could that change? Could love fix even that? I didn't know.

But I knew I couldn't afford to stay in that hatred.

Because we couldn't afford it. I had to let it go and be there for them now. Because if we didn't rally together now, I wouldn't just lose her. I'd lose him too.

THE DESOLATION OF CARRIE.

My old bedroom still smells faintly of Ikea and cough syrup. I have barely slept in this bed at all since back when I was seventeen. The sheets are clean, but I can feel the echo of my teenage self still beneath them. The ghost of a girl who once believed that love--real love--would protect her from the worst parts of herself.

Now I know better.

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think. But it's all in there.

Danny, my life, my family, Tyson, the arrest.

Most of all I think of Danny from before three weeks ago. Not the Danny who looks at me like a stranger, a bullshitter, a nuisance, a threat. I think of the boy who once made me feel safe enough to jump off bridges and ride bikes down staircases. I think of the man who once made me laugh during contractions.

I want that man back so badly and I fear he's more than gone. That he doesn't exist anymore. That no matter how hard I fight and how much I try, I will never be able to bring my Danny back from the grave.

Though I toss and turn, I'm exhausted. Sleep takes me eventually.

And with it, an unimaginable dream.

The dream begins the same way all dreams of that night do. First a fog, then sound: moans, cries, heavy breathing. The sounds start out remote, but it grows rapidly.

Then Tyson's hands on me. The weight of his body. The feel of the hotel sheets against my back.

Then the realization that the low, rhythmic breathing is me. The moans are mine. The cries are in my voice.

In this dream, there are whispers. I recognize it now, that final coupling, at the end of the evening, when Tyson and I are wrapped into each other like soulmates, desperately kissing and making love and nibbling on each other's necks. My complete and utter betrayal of Danny, of my marriage, of my true love.

"Tell me what you are," Tyson murmurs, his mouth grazing the edge of my jaw.

I flinch. But the dream won't let me lie. It's a memory. I can't rewrite the past, just relive it.

"Yours," I whisper.

"Say it again."

"Yours."

A beat.

"Say it with my name, Carrie."

"I'm yours, Tyson."

He does something. His pushes his cock as deep as it will go, and he stops thrusting. Instead, he rocks gently back and forth, deep inside me, rubbing his huge head against an unknown pleasure center no man has ever touched before.

My eyes fly open -- the orgasm rushing over me out of nowhere. I scream. He kisses me, deeply. I'm coming, but indescribably deep inside, an orgasm unlike any I have felt before.

I shake, moan, whine. He holds me, rubbing that head deep inside. It goes on and on. I cry, my tears flowing over my cheeks. He kisses my face, my lips, my neck. I can't breathe. My pussy convulses desperately around the massive intrusion, but I am pinned. I gasp for air. The rubbing does not stop until he says "good girl."

Then he pulls the long shaft out, almost to the tip, and thrusts in again, gently. And again. All of the sudden I can breathe, barely, and we are fucking again. He's looking into my eyes. The strange, overwhelming orgasm ends. I'm overwhelmed by the aftershocks and that renewed sense that each thrust carries my whole body with it, pulling my insides into me, than dragging them out.

I recognize he's rewarded me, for saying the right thing.

When he sees the realization in my eyes, he smiles, and speeds up again. It's instantly overwhelming.

I will cum again soon. It's too much. My head shakes from side to side in desperation. He chuckles into my neck but keeps thrusting, at his own pace. I'm losing my mind but he's less interested in that. He wants to keep whispering.

"Did cuckie ever do that to you sweetie?"

"No" I didn't hesitate.

"Not even close?"

"Never, no. Not like this. I don't even know what this is. It's like I'm possessed."

"Possessed by black cock sweetheart. Do you love it?"

I don't want to use the word love. I just groan.

"Do you love it, Carrie?"

"I do. You know I do."

He shifted again and pressed himself against that spot. My legs are completely spread open, wrapped around him, my knees pressing against the bed. Our pubic bones are pressed tightly together. There was no escape. He could reach me there as he pleased. I could feel a new wave of orgasm galloping towards me.

"Say it Carrie, whisper it just for me."

I shook my head no.

It was here. It was huge. He withheld it from me, wasn't rubbing hard enough.

"Say it, Carrie. Be honest with yourself. Confess the truth. Do you love it?"

I kissed him as deeply as I could, and I whispered it into his mouth. He pushed me over the edge as I started whispering.

"I love it. I love it, Tyson. I love everything about this. I love being possessed by your black cock. I don't want to ever stop."

He pressed more as my whispers became whimpers, then stutters. I couldn't stop. I bit his shoulder. I couldn't.

I screamed. "OH GOD!!! I'M FUCKING CUMMING AGAIN!!"

He pounded me hard for a few seconds more as I convulsed, a mess of tears and spit and wild moaning.

He chuckled when it was over, as he settled into me again. Deep, gentle thrusting again.

"Nice job covering that scream up. Would have done your little hubby no good to hear you scream the L word like that, would it? You hid it well. I'm going to make a good little liar out of you, sweetie."

I shook my head no.

"You're not gonna lie? You gonna tell your poor cuck hubby what we are saying here? Really?"

I shook my head no, with real conviction this time. I could never tell him.

"The say it, Carrie. Tell me you're gonna lie to him. You know you are."

"I am. It's true. I can't tell him this."

"Say it Carrie."

"I'm gonna lie to him. I'm gonna lie to him about this."

"What can't you tell? What do you need to hide?"

"How I feel. How you made me feel. How you owned me tonight."

"And what else. There's one more thing that would break your little cuck hubby's heart if he knew."

"What?"

"You will have to lie to him about yourself. About how you remember me. About how you think of me every time you have sex."

I moan in desperation again. God, why can't I stop cumming.

"You will think of me to help yourself cum again with him. Every time."

"No."

"Say it Carrie. Don't lie to me. You will think of me every time from now on. He will never own you again. He will only share you with me, every time. Your body will be with him but your mind will be with me. Say it."

"No."

He pushed against the spot again. He thought he could control me. Like a trained dog. But the orgasm was galloping again. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't close him off. His head was right there, touching it, pulling it from me.

"Say it Carrie. Its true."

"Its true dammit. Its true."

I was weeping now, both from the orgasms and the bitter knowledge it was all true.

"You'll go home with him soon. This moment will be over, you will go back to your little life, with your little husband. Won't you?"

"Yes."

"But not all of you."

"... No."

"What stays with me?"

There's a silence. And then I answer, barely audible: "The part of me that came alive tonight."

He exhales, like he's pleased. "That part... that's the only real part of you. Isn't it?"

"I don't know."

"You do. You knew it the moment I touched you. You've known it your whole life--you've just been trained not to believe it."

I shake my head.

He leans in. "What do you call it when someone finds their true self?"

I try to turn away. He doesn't let me.

"You said this was going to be one night," he says softly. "But that was before."

"Before what?"

"Before you were reborn."

I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat. The words are absurd. Arrogant. But something about them lands. Like a whisper in a church pew.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" he asks. "You felt your body wake up. You felt the lies fall away."

"No..."

He kisses my neck.

"Don't lie to me now. Not anymore."

I shudder. My face burns with shame.

"This was supposed to be fun," I whisper. "A one-time thing. Just a night."

He smiles against my shoulder. "That's what all of them say at first. But that was three hours ago. You're not the same girl you were then."

"You're twisting this."

"No. You are. You're trying to fit this into the old story you wrote for yourself. You can't. That story's dead. You're not just a naughty wife anymore. You're mine now, even if you lie about it to your cuck hubby for a while."

He moves slightly, bringing his face close to mine.

"I know something you haven't said yet."

"What?"

"You want to see me again."

I try to shake my head.

"You want to see me again."

"No," I whisper.

"Say it."

"I can't."

"Say it."

"... I want to see you again."

He hums. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. "You'll reach out for me."

"I won't."

"You will. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. You'll wait. You'll give your little cuck a few weeks to piece himself together. But eventually... you'll come back. You'll come find me."

I close my eyes, ashamed. "I can't do that."

"You already decided you would."

I'm about to orgasm again. I can't stop it.

"You think I'll forget you?" I whisper. "I won't."

He smiles again, that maddening, victorious smile.

"You don't have to remember me. I'll make it easy. Look in the dryer bag before you leave. In the bathroom. I will leave something for you."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you'll look."

"... I'll look."

"And you'll use it."

"Yes... Eventually."

"When?"

"When... when Danny forgives me. When I can't breathe anymore. When I need this again."

"Good girl."

He kisses me one last time, as he starts to speed up. The pounding intensifies. Soon I am incoherent, and I can feel this time he will join me, and fill me like I have never been filled before.

I snap awake.

My body is soaked in sweat. My breath is ragged. My mouth tastes like copper.

But my pussy is soaked.

And I remember everything.

I remember the feel of the hotel carpet under my bare feet. I remember the dryer bag. I remember looking at it. I remember the feel of his business card in my fingers.

I clutch my chest, struggling to calm myself. Because this isn't just shame. This is horror. Horror, and yet my pussy is throbbing now, impossible to ignore.

But I must ignore it. I can't give in to lust. Because I had already told Danny everything I remembered. And this--this was more. Worse than more.

And now, with full clarity, I know what that final stretch of betrayal really meant. I told another man he was more real to me than the love of my life. I admitted I would touch my husband while thinking of someone else. I promised to go back. To seek out the man who destroyed my marriage.

I had said all those things. Whispered them like oaths.

I can't take them back. But I can bury them. I can bury them so deep they never come out.

And so, that is the story of how I destroyed my fairytale marriage to the perfect man.

Worse yet, there are still things he doesn't know. Things I said. Things I meant. Things I may still do. And if he ever learns the full truth? Not just what he heard... but what I whispered in the throes of excruciating pleasure?

Then this isn't the story of how I almost lost him.

It's the story of how I never get him back.

***** I plan to start publishing Book 2 within the next two weeks. *****